Shadows within the Ice
by silversparklemoonlight
Summary: What if Jack never escape the ravine when Pitch broke his staff? What if he wasn't there to help Jamie or the Guardians? What if Pitch actually won the battle? Jack left injured in the ravine, found a day later by the Guar- No. Pitch. Why would Pitch come back for Jack?There has to be something more to why he would. Maybe there's more to the heartless soul Pitch is portrayed to be.
1. Chapter 1: Captured or Saved?

**Hello my fellow fanfic fans:) This is my 3rd story for Rise of the Guardians, and I hope you all enjoy:) Future reference, lots of plot twists, and unexpected turns throughout the story;) Just something to catch your attention;) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians, blah, blah, blahh... Now I present you with(drum roll please..) Shadows within the ice) Enjoy:)**

**And you all now the next part I'm about to say. Don't forget to Review. What harm can it do:) lol, I just rhymed:) Anyway, don't forget to review, it makes me update faster for you.**

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"Now, now Jamie just give in to your fears and this will all end. It will all be over."

Shadows and darkness encased the boy within it's embrace, swallowing him to an endless realm of nightmares and fear. Jamie didn't know where he was any longer, he thought he would be awakened within his room when he heard a loud clash of thunder uproar outdoors. He recalled only being greeted with a second of his all too familiar home, then a swirling vortex of what seemed to be black sand restrict around him. His pointless pleads and yells didn't do any use as to where he ended up now.

He tip toed backwards unaware of where the source of the sinister voice emitted from. His hands were trembling beside him, and tears leaked from his eyes leaving freshly moistened trails along his cheeks. He was scared. No he was terrified. Why weren't the Guardians here to help him? Were they even real or was it just his imagination playing tricks?

Pitch observed the stubborn child within the shadows, impatiently waiting for the last light to dwindle away. He certainly felt the fear ooze from the child and soak into his heartless soul. He took a gigantic gulp of air seeming that it had particles of the boy's fear within it for him to sniff in. This boy certainly did have a strong belief within those Guardians to last this long with not so much as a sliver of assistance from them yet. The child had to give in to his fear sooner or later. It was just a matter of time and taunts being brought upon him until he will finally cave in. It was a matter of the waiting game until it will all be over.

"Don't tell me you believe in those Guardians? Now do you Jamie? You would have to be a fool if you did." Pitch provoked, as he circled around the child who was unknown of where his specific point of reference was. Those were the advantages of being the Boogeyman and having the power to yield darkness itself to your will. Pitch used it to his advantage to frighten the boy even more. It will only be a matter of time until he finally cracked.

Jamie wiped the flood of tears that poured from his amber pupils, and sniffled as if he had a cold. It couldn't be real. The Guardians were real, they were! He saw them with his own eyes.

"N-no. Your w-wrong. They are real. I saw them," he tried to convince the mysterious presence, and in maybe doing so trying to persuade himself that the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa Clause were after all real.

Pitch rolled his eyes at the child's ignorance. He simply refused to release his hold on hope, joy, and wonder. No matter how much hope was already lost the child refused to let go of the remaining sprinkle of hope he had left. He reminded Pitch of Jack, the child had so many of the same qualities the winter spirit possessed also. But that was all about to change. Pitch had to crush the child's soul from the inside out, he had to remind the child what was fact and soon to be fiction. Maybe the truth will do more harm than making up lies.

"Maybe they are Jamie," Pitch recognized the smile of relief and hope brim along the child's lips as his watery eyes beamed with joy, then he continued, "But they won't exist in a very short amount of time," and just like that Jamie's face contorted into a worried and fear filled expression once again, "Right now they are slowly, painfully fading away. Every child in the world doesn't believe in them any longer. Your friends, your sister. They no longer think those fairytales are real. Everyone except you doesn't believe. It is you who is making them have a slow agonizing death. It is you making them suffer so much right now. As long as you believe in them their suffering will continue. Put them out of their misery. Don't believe in them any longer Jamie. It will do us all use."

Jamie debated whether this was true or not. Was he really causing his most admired tales of childhood pain? Was it because of him they were suffering right now? Would it assist them if he stopped believing? For a faint second Jamie perceived he heard a shrill scream emit from the Tooth Fairy, as her insides were slowly shutting down and he was the one delaying her from being released from her misery. Maybe it was just his mind playing another trick but maybe it was all a trick. Maybe the Guardians weren't real after all. Maybe the unknown being was right. It might do use if he joined his companions in the exile of non-belief. And just like that all his innocence and purity vanished. Gone. No hope, joy, wonder, or happiness remained within him. He no longer believed in such ridiculous fairytales any longer. And just like that the final flickering light finally went out. Like those of a strong fire's flame, whisked away by the slightest breeze, plunging the rest of the room into darkness and fear.

A smirk graced along the Nightmare King's lips. Silence proven what he had accomplished. Hope was finally diminished within the young boy. His head slumped against his chest in defeat as he surrendered hoping it would do good. Pitch felt relief, victory, freedom course through his being. It was finally over. He finally won. The Guardians were no more. Or so what he thought.

Pitch silently instructed the darkness and shadows to transport the boy to his room, where he would morn over his loss. Pitch had no need to watch such a useless child cry over for no longer believing in fairytales. It was cruel, but every parent went through that stage of having their innocence ripped away from them and this child wasn't much different. By no longer believing he allowed Pitch to send the world into yet another Dark Age. Wonder, delight, and happiness will be replaced with his fear and nightmares. He would assure there wasn't a single child that had a smile graced along their lips, or a pleasant dream within the night. He would assure all those frightened infants would finally fear and see him.

As the blackened sand seeped away along with the child, Pitch strolled along the blistery brick gravel of his 'lustrous' lair, with suspended cages crowded with flightless fairies, whom all were perched along the bars within, all with solemn expressions along their faces. Pitch glared to each and every one of them, who seemed to not notice his presence as their minds seemed to be off somewhere else. Pitch observed their flightless, translucent wings, their small stomachs breathing in and out. Their violet eyes that were filled with life. Why weren't they dead? They had to be! The last light was removed from the equation. Only to assure there weren't any believing children left, he glanced over to his rusted, copper globe that was completely enveloped in darkness, without a single light flickering along it. It only proven the matter at hand that all the children didn't believe. But yet those fairies were alive, along with those Guardians. If Tooth's helpers were alive so was she, and so were the rest, excluding the Sandman, who he killed with his own hand in sending him in a darkened universe with the release of a pointed arrow. But still those retched Guardians were still out there, alive, in hiding.

The Guardians must have came up with a solution to keep themselves alive for now, but Pitch couldn't figure anything or anyway of what was keeping their life sources going. He had to track them, and destroy them himself. He planned to end this feud once and for all. But instead of scrounging to find them himself, how about he lured them him into a trap. Used a certain companion of theirs to trade themselves for his well-being. The Guardians must be missing their newest member after all. And surely Bunny would want to have a little apologetic talk with him, after what he had done. Pitch felt the regret Bunny felt for hitting Jack like that, along with the fear he would never be able to apologize to him.

Pitch smiled at his ingenious mind for thinking of such an effective idea. He didn't waste a moment in allowing the sand to transport him from his gloomy lair to tundra of Antarctica.

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The nipping breeze flowed across the white terrain, rising clutters of snow to whirl through the air. No sign of life was deposited within any line of sight, or in any direction. Nothing but a sheet of white assisted with the howling of the wind.

Pitch trudged through the foot deep of snow, his arms enveloped around him hoping it would bring him some warmth against the nipping winds. His eyes scanned for a certain object, as his ears strained for the crashing of waves, signaling the ocean was nearby. Flecks of snow rested along his black robe almost coating it in white but he swiped his hand along it, scraping off the unwanted flecks. Pitch continued to tread his way through the barren abyss, gaining no sight of what he strived for. The blizzard that raged on around him was the only proof the winter spirit was nearby. Pitch continued to tare his way through the snowy tundra convinced he was nearby to his 'prize' awaiting for him in a ravine. The winds blew against him making it even more of a challenge for him to head in the direction his instincts foretold him was the right way. The invisible force even lifted flurries of snow from the plain's floor and coated his vision completely white. Pitch blinked the white sheet away only in time to be replaced with a second coating. As he furiously closed and opened his eyelids, he raised his arm above his forehead preventing another gust of snow to block his vision.  
He blinked away the frozen flakes, blurring his vision for a moment until the water finally resided and he was greeted with an all too familiar sight..  
Within the vague distance, a hazy sculpture caught Pitch's attention. He hurried towards it as the ice sculpture became more defined to his vision. It appeared exactly the same as a few days ago, when him and Jack unknowingly created it. His black sand intertwined with Jack's ice, formed a menacing looking piece of ice. The skyscraper of ice and black sand stood near the cliff that had the icy ocean's waves crashing against the banks, bringing a small mist throughout the area. Pitch admired 'their' creation, him and Jack perfected. It only made his mind reel through the reasons they should be allies. It only made complete sense since cold and dark would fit exquisitely together.

The multiple spikes that probed out from the interior, had shimmering sharp points to it causing it to look more fatal. The black sand vined throughout it brought an unusual sensation to the visitors that inspected it. But the glistening ice overcoming the rest of it's unnatural presence brought an approachable feeling, something that mixed together with hazardous sharp points and peculiar black sand, brought the same look of dangerous or keep away but gained the feeling of intriguing or something different, in a good way. It looked haunting..

Pitch glanced around the bare expanse seeking for the crevice near the cliff, located near where the mysterious sculpture and it's creator stood. His amber pupils landed on it's location it scrounged for, as his infamous smirk graced along his lips hinting his razor pointed teeth hidden underneath. He wasted no valuable time in yielding the shadows to transport him to where the unconscious winter spirit laid unaware of the sinister presence.

The Nightmare King's form constructed itself from the grains of black sand at the base of the abyss. The few remaining stray's of black sand were absorbed within Pitch's upheld finger tips, as his eyes roamed around the area he now occupied along with it's two other occupants.

Above Pitch caught a glimpse of the Moon's rays attempting to snake it's way through the layers of gray,murky clouds that now populated the unseen night time sky, to it's endangered child.

_No use in trying, old friend. It's too late to rescue poor little Jack, along with your Guardians. I finally won, _Pitch heeded as he glared daggers toward the concealed moon.

Jack was his now. The Guardians would soon fade away. And he would finally now what victory felt like for the rest of eternity.

Pitch strolled over to the unconscious spirit curled up against the icy wall, huddled around an uncertain object Pitch couldn't clearly make out. Pitch certainly didn't expect Jack to still be asleep, in the exact same spot he last encountered him. Pitch would have expected Jack to have awaken by now or have attempted to escape over the last twenty-four passing hours. Instead of him being huddled around a glimmering, colorful body, as moistened trails were frozen along his winter- pale cheeks.

Pitch delicately uncurled Jack's stiff arms from around him, introduced with one of Tooth's mini-helpers, cuddled within Jack's lap. Her wings seemed to be almost completely shattered as there were cracks lining across her luminescent appendages. Her whole frail frame was coated in a thick layer of frost and ice as she was shimmering with different coloured lights that reflected from her vibrant feathers. Pitch realized her whole delicate body shivering uncontrollably; her body trembling, unwillingly. Pitch only stood and watched, as the young fairy was slowly dieing.

Her eyes remained closed, to Pitch's liking. He didn't want to be the last sight she would see of this cruel world, it would only make her death a whole lot more terrifying. Moments slithered on by of the fairy shaking within Jack's lap who was still unaware of her last moments ending in the coldness with no assistance from him. Pitch watched, bored at how long he awaited for the hybrid fairy to loose it's grasp on life, and when he was about to end it with his own hand, it went still. Completely frozen. It eyelids didn't shift open, it's body stopped convulsing, it's tiny stomach wasn't rising or falling as she laid motionless within Jack's lap encased in a thick layer of ice. Baby Tooth was literally frozen to death.

Pitch kneeled beside the boy and cupped the stiff fairy within his lengthy fingers and placed her along the rock hard ground that was dusted with a thin layer of snow. He swore he could of heard a small _Clank!_ noise, as when you place your glass along the table, except it was Baby Tooth's ice covered body that ricocheted against the ground.

Pitch ignored the fairy, for it was no use in stressing over it, and gently shook Jack's shoulder to awaken him.

Through Baby Tooth's dieing moments Pitch saw what coldness could bring upon mortals. Coldness brought death. And maybe that was why Jack was rejected from all the other spirits for the past three centuries. They saw him as the bringer of death, and didn't want any part with him. Pitch realized Jack was only a child, a young boy at heart. An innocent, confused soul, that had no guidance through his immortal life. Pitch felt like an empty space within him has been filled, as a missing piece has been found. After placing the delicate hybrid along the ravine's floor, he glanced back to the sleeping child foreseeing Jack for the child he truly was. Instead of treating him unfairly and as if he was dirt to be scraped underneath Pitch's boot, maybe Pitch could bring care for him, gain his trust through another way. Pitch still had his proposition still open towards Jack, and maybe if he didn't force Jack through threatening and black mailing he could change Jack's decision through concern. After realizing such a substantial part to Jack, Pitch felt the need to watch him like he was his own child.

Pitch slightly shook Jack's shoulder, assuringly whispering his name, only earning moans and slight kicks to push him away. Pitch rolled his eyes to Jack's stubbornness, and backed away for a moment earning his foot to connect with a wooden object.  
He spun around, welcomed with Jack's staff rested along the icy ground, split in two. Pitch's eyes widened and a glanced over his shoulder towards the still sleeping spirit then towards the lifeless stick. There was no frost outlining it's crevices, or the shining light it brought when wielded within Jack's grasp. It looked like a dead twig, a useless stick like those you would find in a forest. Regret welded up within Pitch, for what he had done, but it did no use in mourning around in the ravines of Antarctica.  
He spun his hand outwards over the broken wood, and disintegrated it within his sand, transporting it back to his layer. As the last remains of wood dispersed with the rest, a satisfied sigh escaped Pitch as he returned his attention back towards the slumbering child.

He shifted back over beside Jack, and scanned his body over for any possible injuries. None physically shown, but after hearing that shrill scream when he tore Jack's staff over his knee, there had to be some physical or eternal injury. Pitch's amber eyes didn't dare leave Jack's shivering frame, and then he concluded what was happening. Shivering. Jack shivering. Jack shouldn't be shivering. He was a winter sprite. Bound to be use to the cold for all eternity. He shouldn't be shivering from the coldness. Something was terribly wrong.

Jack's body trembled against the stone wall, along with his teeth chattering. Pitch subsided his efforts in awakening the child, instead scooping him within his arms, forgetting about the presence of the frozen fairy. He brought himself to his feet with the shivering Jack Frost huddled in his arms. Pitch felt the cold rush through his being, as he felt his arms tremble from how much Jack was shaking within them.

Pitch worriedly glanced down to the young boy he held, concerned if he caused any permanent damage upon him. Pitch huddled Jack closer to his body, subsiding the immense coldness it brought to him, in hopes in would bring the boy some comfort.

Pitch then glanced around the cavern for any possible shadows, since his hands were full at the moment, and pinpointed one within the far corner, shockingly. He quickly rushed over with a young Jack in his hold, wasting no time in transporting the two to his lair, leaving the frozen fairy rested along the ground, alone in the coldness.

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**A/N: Yay:) First chapter. finished:) Well, I hope you lot enjoyed it:) I certainly enjoyed typing it:) Well, I have to go and get started on h.w:p Pushed it off to doing it at night on a Sunday:p What else could I expect of myself. But anyway, I would really enjoy feedback from you all:) It encourages me to improve my writing:)  
Also, important note! Every 10th reviewer gets a chapter dedicated to them!:) So if your the 10th, 20th, 30th, etc. reviewer you get a chapter dedicated to you:) My gift to you:) So Review if you want a whole chapter dedicated to you;)**

**For now, au revoir (Goodbye in French)**

**-Silversparkleout **


	2. Chapter 2: Worry and Pain

**Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians:p What else is new?**

**This chapter is proudly dedicated dedicated to _ParisPhantom_:) Thanks so much for your supporting reviews, they really make my day:)**

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Ragged gasps escaped the winter child's throat as he uncontrollably shivered within Pitch's grasp. Pitch raced through the stone corridors of his 'lustrous' lair, taking multiple routes of twists and turns, certain he knew the right path to his destination in mind. His Nightmares carelessly strolling through the stone built caverns halted to an immediate stop as their eyes widened with confusion as to why their master was holding his most desired enemy within his arms, unfocused of their presence as he sprinted on past them. The Nightmares could have sworn the man that bolted on by them wasn't Pitch Black they all came to know and fear. But for that mere second there golden eyes deciphered a distressed father, nervous for his suffering child. Or in this scenario, Pitch clutching onto a shaking Jack Frost who's shockingly worried for the teenagers well-being.

Pitch quietly panted as he continued his race through the dim lit hallways, his main focus Jack. His golden pupils were clouded over with worry and concern. He was distressed Jack's unseen injuries were more severe than he presumed. All his thoughts darting through his conscious all came to the conclusion that he caused Jack this unknown source of his 'illness' and he might not have a cure as how to revise it. Pitch couldn't bear to live the rest of his pathetic immortal life, living with the fact he could have killed a child. If Jack somehow didn't make it through this, Pitch couldn't think of any other possible solution of him surviving this either. He would never be able to bear he could have murdered the infamous Jack Frost, that he now took a liking towards.

Jack convulsed within Pitch's embrace, rough coughs scratching past his throat. Pitch increased his speed through the lengthy hallways, each torturous second ticking by feeling as if it's been a human's life time. A precious mortal's life time, wasted. Jack's possible final moments, being lugged through Pitch's eerie lair alone, being carried by his worst foe he would never forgive for what he has done. Pitch shuddered at the slightest thought of Jack eyes drooping closed, encasing the immortal child's vibrant filled eyes in an endless oblivion of darkness, his eyelids never drifting back open. Along with Jack, Pitch would never be able to forgive himself to what he has done to the fun-loving Jack Frost, if he died within his presence. Pitch would never forget wasting Jack's last moments hauling him through the halls of his domain instead of helping the boy with his illness before it would be too late.

Pitch roughly shook his head, ridding his mind of the haunting presumptions that taunted his thoughts, determined he will find a way to fix this mess he created. He approached a rusted metal door, backpedaling his foot behind him and swinging it underneath, connecting the base with the weighted door. It creaked open and Pitch cringed to how much his foot now brought a searing pain through the nerves of his leg, numbing his entire limb. That wasn't one of his smartest moves he's done, but his mind was preoccupied with helping the trembling frost child in his care. He didn't waste a single moment stumbling into the room, deaf to the faint buzzing of a certain fairy's wings, gradually receding down the hall, as the miniature helper went to warn it's mother. Sometimes being a distressed father was one of the many weaknesses in life. Pitch was soon to find out his..

Pitch's eyes dilated to the poorly lit room as the torch dangling from it's holster brought little to no use of light for it to be any assistance. Shadows flickered across the brick-layered ceiling and floor base, bringing an eerie awareness to the confinement, along with the aid of the shrilling breezes trickling down Pitch's spine.  
He limped into the fire lit room that was only occupied with a shredded, old bed, along with a splintered table and seat, that were cornered within the shadows.  
The nipping wind brought no welcoming presence, as it engulfed it's two recent visitors within it's embrace, engulfing the two in a never-ending whirlwind of coldness.  
Jack huddled closer against Pitch's chest, unconsciously hoping his enemy would bring him comfort from the bitter breeze wrapping it's frost child in it's clutches. Pitch curled his arms around Jack's body even more, shielding him from the blistering coldness, as he supported Jack into a more comfortable position, only earning a slight moan.  
Pitch wasn't sure what to do any longer. Jack was a winter spirit. He should be use to this temperature. He shouldn't be cuddling against Pitch for warmth. Pitch should be the one quivering, not Jack. Why was this happening? Why did he do this to Jack? Why?

Pitch stumbled along side the bed and deposited Jack underneath the heated covers. A relived sigh slipped past Jack's lips as he cuddled against the blankets and hauled them over top of his head, to preserve as much body heat for himself.  
Pitch's eyes didn't dare leave Jack's frail frame, as he fetched the dingy chair and seated himself along Jack's bedside, unaware of a slight smile forming along his lips.  
He didn't know how long Jack would remain in his slumber, nor did he care how long he would have to watch over Jack as if he was his own son. It was going to be a long, tiring night, of stress and concern. Pitch slumped within his seat, fighting against the spell sleep would cast over him. He swayed within the chair, as his head slouched against his chest and his eyelids began their descent close. No! Stay Awake! He would not allow himself to sleep. Not until he was positive Jack was going to be alright. He violently shook his head, rattling his mind inside, ridding the drowsiness fogging his thoughts. He was determined to stay awake. He was going to watch over Jack all night if he had too. Pitch used his elbows as a support for his head as his eyelids threatened to reclose but he simply didn't allow it. It was certainly going to be a long night.

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Pitch remained awake, seated beside the slumbering child. He never thought how challenging it was to remain awake all night, nor did he think of how troublesome it was to care for a child. Jack had to wake sometime. Right? Pitch could only hope. But what was hope? The Spirit of Hope was barely alive after all. Was there truly any hope left? Just even a slither?

What felt like a days passing but only have been a mercless hours, Pitch desperately craved for a short nap at the very least. Sleep tried to drag Pitch under it's way, reminding how he hungered for the slightest amount of rest. Pitch fought hard and long. He would not be forced in a realm of darkness, daring to leave Jack all alone. What if he was asleep and Jack awoke? There was no telling what the winter child would do to him if he was unaware of his surroundings. Jack could simply strike him down right then and there or escape from his lair. Pitch would never have the chance to explain or earn Jack's trust. It would all be for nothing if he let darkness overtake him. He didn't just want to. He _had_ to stay awake.

A small whimper screeched past Jack's throat catching Pitch from his delirious state of mind. Even underneath the multiple layers of covers, Pitch deciphered Jack's frame shivering. How could Jack be shivering? Pitch would be sweating underneath those many layers of blankets. Jack huddled the sheets closer to him, as many more whimpers escaped his throat.

Pitch's 'unknown' fatherly instincts began to return to his heartless being, seeing Jack in pain. Jack's brows scrunched closer together, as his crystal white teeth chattered harshly against each other. Pitch deciphered Jack unconsciously forming a thin layer of frost over his body, a clear sheet of ice spiraling along his skin. Pitch desperately clawed his fingers against the unwanted layer of ice, noticing it was only being replaced by a second coating.  
A labored sigh released itself, as Pitch sulked back in his seat, defeated with the possibility of removing the ice taped to Jack's body. It already troubled Pitch enough with Jack violently shuddering and wincing against the slightest movement he made, and adding the ice now coating his body definitely didn't fit Pitch's comfort in assisting Jack against his fridged illness. Pitch could only accept what was happening to Jack and hope Jack could cure himself somehow.  
A distressed father worriedly sat close to his 'child's' beside praying everything will be alright. He vowed he will treed through this problem with Jack, being beside the winter child the whole time, but he only hoped that Jack would awake, that was all he hoped for.

If possible, Jack's eyelids scrunched together even more as his head tossed back and forth along the pillow. Unheard mumbles rolled past his lips as it seemed he was frantically trying to escape from an unknown source. His palms clenched into fist around the folds of sheets, turning his knuckles as white as the snow he created. The sliver of hope that Jack would be alright was nothing more than a thread as Pitch helplessly observed Jack, unsure he could be of any assistance any longer.

Jack continued to toss and turn in his bed, his struggles growing more intense. He carelessly tore the sheets from his body and tossed them onto the floor. Pitch only watched Jack's suffering. Jack's ragged breathes only made Pitch's misery worse. He never presumed he caused this amount of harm upon Jack. If Jack was mortal (luckily not) Pitch could have mistaken these as Jack's final moments. It only brought the agonizing memories or maybe nightmares, of what he has done. Pitch balled locks of his hair within his fist, failing at holding back the depressing thoughts.  
For so long, they've been at bay but now they have returned, torturing and taunting Pitch's mind.

'The shrill screams, the uneven intakes of breathe, the faint _thump_ of a heartbeat. Then, nothing. Nothing at all. No jagged gasps of breathe. Screams finally silenced. All was still and silent. Only a mothers sobs, or the howling wind was all that was left. The biting breeze only saddened the sorrowful scene even more. The genuine child's eyes once filled with life and innocence, now dull and still, along with the rest of her body. It was already to late, Pitch could only observe what he has caused. Murderer? Criminal? Was this who he truly was? A monster that killed children? Sometimes he wondered is that all he was meant for. Was he only meant to bring nightmares and death? Bring unfortunate children to their deaths. Centuries, maybe even millenniums of bringing darkness and nightmares. All those deaths caused by him. By Pitch Black.

Minutes trickled by as Pitch lonuged aside Jack. He was never going to leave Jack alone. Jack was a child. An immortal child to be exact. He should never be allowed alone. It was remarkable, even after 300 years in solitude Jack remained to keep his composure and wits. Anyone else would have probably went insane, at the very least to say. Pitch's eyes scanned over Jack's fragile frame as Jack was unable to escape the barriers of his cage hat kept him trapped in an unwanted slumber. Pleads, moans, and whimpers only further proved Jack's desperation that he wanted freedom from his slumber. Pitch knew Jack wanted to wake. But would it be worse if he awoke than remained in an eternity of sleep? Jack would assume he was in a nightmare if he drifted his eyes open, finding he has been taken 'captive' by Pitch. Jack would probably do anything to escape from the clutches of the Nightmare King. Pitch never fully thought of the plan what to do if Jack awoke. But it was not like he didn't have a strict time limit to fully plan what had to be done. At least time was on his side for now. He wasn't sure if Jack would be so lenient as he thought though.

Whines and sobs tore past Jack's throat as he helplessly squirmed on the dirtied comforter. Tears gathered along the bottom of Pitch's eyelids, threatening to spill over, only being held back by force.  
Why was this happening to Jack? Out of all the other spirits why couldn't he be the one suffering instead of Jack? Why couldn't he ever bring good to others. He was the Boogeyman. The Nightmare King. He never brought any good to the world. He only brought darkness. He only brought misery. But maybe, just maybe he didn't want to bring suffering and death to others.  
And just like, a lone tear escaped from it's enclosure. A tear slithered down Pitch's cheek, followed by many others. He attempted to wipe the trace of moistened trails but ended in vain as more tears found their route of escape. Was Pitch really cursed for all eternity to bring death and nightmares? Pitch didn't want Jack to suffer. Jack never had the chance to feel what it was like to have friend, companion, family. Jack didn't deserve this. Jack never deserved anything that happened to him since he became a spirit. Why did Pitch just notice that now? And just like that the Nightmare King felt remorse, and tears poured from his golden pupils. Who ever knew the Boogeyman could cry?

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Hours flowed by, and nothing but the cackling sound of the torch's flame echoed throughout the silenced room. Nothing stirred, except the shadows flickering across the walls, and the steady rise and fall of two spirit's chests.

Positioned within the far corner of the confinement, something sinister rustled within the shadows; it's two merciful golden orbs, glaring at the two figures rested along the other side of the room. The shallow breathes of each ricocheting off walls so it's keen ears would perk at the restful sound. It eyes corruptly glared to the afflicted child, who tossed and turned along his barrened comforter, moans and grunts of pain scratching past his lips. A veil malice snaked itself along the Nightmare's lips as it noticed the frost child's eyes were clamped shut. It's soul immediately flooded with pleasure and delight, as it concluded the boy must be having a 'sweet' Nightmare. A ghastly, horrid nightmare.

The black sanded stallion materialized from the shadows, un-frightened of approaching the hushed scene before it. It galloped it's way along side the slumbering child, with black sand intertwining itself above his head, forming the perfect presentation of what his luscious nightmare was. The sick malice only widened along it's lips, as it's eyes gleamed with thrill at seeing the nightmare before it, involved with none other than Pitch Black. A cackled laugh held itself at bay, as the black sand formed itself into the grim nightmare, between Jack and the Nightmare King...

The Nightmare immediately spun around when a soft snore resonated from behind, only greeted with the Nightmare King himself. It was almost to good to be true. Pitch's head was rested along his chest, deep intakes of breathes heavily thundering throughout the room, tear-stained trails imprinted along his cheeks, but most importantly the way his eyes were drifted close.

The Nightmare King was asleep. And there was no black sand creeping itself above, forming what it's master worst fears were. The Boogeyman himself was asleep without any nightmares.

_My that won't do_, the Nightmare pondered to itself.

Without any hesitation the stallion disintegrated into a million grains of black sand, coursing through the air, towards Pitch Black himself.

_Sweet Nightmare Pitch.._

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**A/N: Oh my gosh! I love you all so much right now!:D 11 reviews for my first chapter!:D You guys don't know how happy I am at the moment:) And for that I had to update for you:) I'm sorry for the suckish chapter (I'll revise it later), but I had to continue for you all:) I'll fix my mistakes tomorrow, and improve it a little more:) But for now, Thank you all for Reviewing:) And may the Guardians be with you;)**

**If I get 10 reviews, I'll make sure the next chappie is up real soon:) So Review:)**

**-Silversparkleout**


	3. Chapter 3: Nightmares Part 1

**Updated: 10/7**

**IMPORTANT: I changed my last chapter/updated. So I would highly recommend if you went back and re-read it, or at least the last section... It would really help you understanding this chapt... But any questions just review or PM me:)**

**Also for the 20th reviewer...;) This chapter is dedicated to _The Magnetic Witch_:) Congrats:) **

**Side note: I forgot last chapter to dedicate it to the 10th reviewer but that is now up...**

**Now on with the story...**

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_The Nightmare King was asleep. And there was no black sand creeping itself above, forming what it's master worst fears were. The Boogeyman himself was asleep without any nightmares._

_My that won't do, the Nightmare pondered to itself._

_Without any hesitation the stallion disintegrated into a million grains of black sand, coursing through the air, towards Pitch Black himself._

_Sweet Nightmare Pitch.._

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o.~o~

' "Kozmo! Help!"

Kozmotis stuttered before hesitantly spinning around, announced with the sight worse than any other nightmare he experienced before. His eyes widening with shock, distress, and fear, that granted the Fearlings with a ghostly smile along their lips. The figure struggling within their grasp, desperately squirmed against their hold, as their firm-like grip tightened in return. A small shriek emitted from the barriers of the confinement imprisoned with over ten-thousand sinister spirits, each one impatiently screeching on top of their lungs for release. Kozmotis was frozen in place, unsure what he could do to save his beloved child from the ghastly shadows seizing their chance for freedom. His palm was blandly rested atop the chain of keys that held one that could let loose the worst corrupted spirits throughout the world, letting the beginning of yet another Dark Age to return. He couldn't allow that to happen. It was his duty to prevent that very event from commencing. But yet he couldn't bear to watch the skeleton spirits torture his cherished child. He had to choose. The world or his precious child...

The thousands of foul, poisonous eyes glared down at the single jail keeper persistently approaching the lock that held their prisoner and thousands of blood thirsty demons, impatiently awaiting their rein of fear to begin. Kozmo clenched his hands into fists beside him, as he bravely advanced upon the gigantic prison door, the only thing that separated him and the Fearlings inside. His expression didn't reveal on once of fear, even though he was obsoletely a frightened, trembling child inside. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and it took all his effort not to shudder before the blood-curling demons. If it wasn't for the Fearlings capturing his prized child, he would have definitely ignored their barters or pleads of escape, except they were clever enough to weaken Kozmotis's hardened soul, by capturing the only thing he held most dear.

One Fearlings grew far to impatient, and swooped down in front of their hostage, who was still gasping for air with a retched wheezing sound in between each breathe. Once lively eyes gazed upon the musky skeleton hovering before him, shuddering slightly against the other two clutching onto his wrists besides. The Fearlings bounding the unfortunate spirit, advanced further apart from one another, earning a spine prickling scream to echo throughout the expanse, causing Kozmo to cringe against the sound that shattered his heart and soul into a thousand broken pieces. He swore to never let any harm come upon his child. He would always be a protective father, guarding his only child against any threat, putting his life against the line for his prized possession. His child would always be under his embrace, in between him and harms way. And ever since Kozmo left, there was no one to defend his loved child. All the blame was upon him, it was all his fault his child was in pain now. It only emptied his soul even more, understanding he was the one to blame for this.

"Stop! Stop now!," he desperately screamed, as the Fearling was about to strike their prisoner. The bound teenager had his eyes clamped shut, clearly not prepared for the pain about to reproach his trembling frame, but he continued to brace himself for what was about to be done. He waited for the pain to resurface...

The Fearling with it's fist raised above it's head, spun around, it's stricken red eyes glaring into those of a scared, distressed father. It narrowed it's slits silently instructing Kozmo to do what they both knew had to be done.

Kozmo defiantly remained planted where he was.

"Please. Don't do this," he pleaded, as he resisted the urge of unlocking the cage door. He couldn't ruin all those innocent mortal's lives because of his selfish needs. Or wants. He couldn't. He had to keep reminding himself of all those human's lives depending on his decision. His decision between family or task he was positioned for. Million's of lives counting on his actions right this second. But one prized life before him, craving for the torture to end. Imagine how betrayal must feel..

The Fearling purposely flashed it's multiple rows of razors of teeth, each particular one glimmering with the points edgily sharpened, far to Kozmo's dislikes. He urgently took a step forward, his mouth wide in horror, only a silent scream screeching it's way past, as the Fearling's fist plummeted into it's dazed victim's jaw. Blood splattered onto the layered brick floor as coughing resounded throughout the deathly silent lair, and wheezes of air rasped throughout the cell. The Fearling's smile widened at the child's pain, seeming to relish into it, empowering it's very soul. Another horrid bruise dawned upon the deathly pale skin, along with the various others.  
Almost every inch of the teenagers frame was covered in severe injuries. Cuts, bruises, welts, burns, scratches, even what seemed to bite marks; you name it, it was there, scattered across every limb. Battered gasps continued to ricochet off the cement walls and rebound into Kozmo's ears, ringing louder than what was actually sounded, emotionally tarring his soul apart; ripping, shredding, stripping it apart. Kozmo couldn't dare move, it felt like he was tied in place, his duty to a million other people still speaking louder in his mind, other than the multiple screeches escaping his child's throat. Either his honor and duty was instructing him to stay in place or the just the horror of seeing his treasured child in pain before him. Under his hallow embrace, all harm allowed to be invited through.

_Such a stubborn one_, the skeleton's skull reeled. Unsure whether there was a brain underneath the bony structure, it was unknown to science and all, how these barrened monsters could survive. Without a brain. Without a liver. But most importantly, without a heart. Maybe that's what made them so cruel... so un-feeling. _No matter. All have to cave in sometime. All have to have their weaknesses._

The Fearling's smile stretched wider across it's face, spooking it's companions on how much pleasure and amusement it was having. Oblivious to the battered coughs and gasps, the shadowed spirit unfocused it's attention from it's 'play toy' and spun around to Kozmotis, muffling a laugh upon the brim of it's lips. The sight of the dumbfounded father, eyes as wide as saucers, mouth gaped open, almost falling all the way down to his chest, was a sight that made it worth spending centuries trapped in this imprisonment. Seeing the jai keeper and a loving father finally fall in defeat, crumble into millions of pieces before it, was nothing but a treat. The Fearling knew it had Kozmotis's weakness in it's grasp, it all depended on Kozmo's stubbornness and pride to his obligation of millions of lightened spirits. It all depended which one he cared for more. It was certainly a tricky decision. But the Fearling knew what the outcome was to be.

_So naïve. So ignorant. So stupid!,_ it mocked in it's mind. Time was trickling by, precious minutes, dearest seconds, slipping by, wasted within this jail cell. Before them was the gallant guard, 'in shining armor'. Hah! More like an emotional reck of what was once a person. It wouldn't have come to this if they were free by now. But no matter. There was no harsh feelings or regret in what the Fearling was about to do. It would show no mercy. It would be a luxurious moment, gratified in coming to this step. They weren't desperate, but they were close to falling in despair. The Fearling knew the rest would understand it's actions, and hopefully Kozmo would finally shatter and cave in to his duty as a father.

Gradually, black sand cluttered and clumped together, willing itself into a menacing, brutal object; much alike the Fearling. The curved blade representing the Fearling's twisted mind. The fine, pointed edge characterizing the Fearlings hatred to kill, to bring death upon others. The handle being the source the controlled the blades actions, alike the Fearlings mind, making the wrong decisions, bringing death and pain to it's target.  
The curved dagger was gripped tightly in the skeletal hand, and the Fearlings eyes gleamed with hatred, redemption, and... intent. It only petrified Kozmo even more, his hopeless silver eyes glazed over with frustration and fear. The Fearling only watched though, as Kozmo didn't move from his spot. Maybe Kozmo didn't presume the Fearling would have the gratify in doing something so wrong. So horrible. So _permanent._ How wrong Kozmo was. It's soul was nothing but darkness. Nothing but the veil senses humans keep buried within them. This demon was every sinister conscious within a human, that they didn't show nor possess, as it was buried far to beneath their surface.

The shadowed being was eager. It desired to taste freedom once again. And it would go to more than extreme measures for what it wanted. For what it needed. It would finally end. Their centuries of imprisonment will en-roll to a finish. But the anguished captive will finally be free from his suffering. And Kozmo will be free from his duty. As a guard and a father. The Fearling advanced upon the squirming child, now yelling out useless pleads. One of the heartless skeletons went to muffle him, but the Fearling signaled not to. It assisted in Kozmo's misery, that he could have prevented this from coming. It would be a reminder to him that he was the one who truly caused this. The Fearling halted to a stop inches away from the struggling boy, eyes glazing through the watery iris's of the child's.

"Please don't," he begged with his final stray of strength. He ceased his squirms and pulls, staring at the Fearling with pure helpless pupils. The Fearling only presented it's razor teeth to him, through a wide grinned malice.

It reared back the knife, preparing to plunge it into it's target, relishing the final cries of the pained teenager. It spared a final glance over it's coarse shoulder blade, verifying the helpless father having tears pool from his eyes, but remaining positioned where he was. It eyes presented exotic excitement, as it liberated his joint and guided the dagger to it's destination. The final sound a piercing shriek, filled with nothing but pure agony, followed by a hopeless yell from the unavailing father.

"Jack!" He cried as he hopelessly watched the teenager collapse in a heap beneath the Fearling. Blood pooled around, the dagger rusted over with crimison red, and once vibrant blue eyes, dull, clouded over with betrayal and sorrow.

The Fearling towering over the cowering boy, cackled a preaching laugh, as it joyfully knelt beside the misfortunate boy, who's life was seeping away from existence. Jack's eyes blankly stared off in the distance, unaware of the nightmare monster screeching it's finger against the blood-coated blade, leading it into it's mouth, savoring the taste of delectable blood. Jack's blood.

The pained teenager was always begging for his suffering to end. The Fearling only granted his final wish. Something Kozmo couldn't do..'

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To be continued...

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**A/N: Update: 10/7**

**IMPORTANT: Sorry for all the confusion I caused you guys:p If you read the last section of chapter 2 then this should have made sense. But if you didn't I left a little flash back in the beginning of this chapter, to help you understand what is happening. But I would still Recommend if you went back and read the last section of that chapter quickly, it's not too long, just a paragraph or two. **

**Anyway, this chapter is just Pitch's nightmares. His nightmare might have been confusing for some of you, but if you haven't read the Guardians of Childhood books, or the wiki for it (which I did), then his Nightmare wouldn't have made any sense to you.. And I'm going to be elaborating more on it later in the story. But for you who know about Kozmotis and his daughter, I twisted this around, so I guess I made you think it would be a memory of his daughter and the Fearlings, but it was Jack who was captured instead of his daughter.  
I want to start the fatherly bond between Pitch and Jack, so I thought if I twisted the memory, and switched his daughter being Jack in this, it would add more to it. But I'll write what truly happened with Kozmotis later...**

**Anyway, so sorry for the late update, school as been kicking my *** lately:p And I still have to work on my other story. **

**Also each of your reviews truly made me smile:) You guys really make my day:)**

**Side note: My other story Cruel Revenge is going to have a title change soon! I'm changing it to From the Shadows We Rise. So any readers who are still waiting for my update, it will be up soon, but the title might be different.**

**Anyway, I think I deserve at least 7 reviews for the next chapter to be up;)**

**"Hey!" *dodges tomato* "Who threw that?!" No answer. "Okay. Maybe 5 reviews.."**

**Until next time..**

**-Silversparkleout**


	4. Chapter 4:Nightmares Part 2

**Disclaimer: Sadly I do not have the talent nor money to own RotG:p **

**Also (drum roll please;), this chapter is dedicated too... a Guest reviewer. lol. Anyway, the guest who ever reviewed "continue!", this chapter is dedicated to you for being the 30th reviewer:) **

**Side note: Sorry for the late update, I wanted to make this chapter better for you guys, so I spent an extra day revising it:) And this is a continuation to Pitch's nightmare... So yeah, the "Part 2" should be self-explanatory to this, but decided I should write this reminder also:) Hope you enjoy...**

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"Jackson!"

Kozmo wasn't aware of his movements any longer, his mind etched over with worry and distress for his son. His Jack. It seemed to take control of his ligaments willing him to sprint towards the entryway that held over ten thousand of Earth's worst corrupted spirits known to man kind. But it wasn't crucial to him any longer. His commitment to a worlds worth of people, children, was nothing to him any more. A promise that has been crippled, into nothing but a simple trick of the mind. Just an assurance that all would be fine was nothing more than a comforting lie to sooth the stress of millions. Kozmo hardly felt the guilt scarping it's claws against his soul, the betrayal penetrating itself into his mind, nor the dishonor he granted upon himself for being so naïve, so foolish. His mind was numb to everything, except the heartache he felt, not for the mass of betrayal towards the righteous humans, but the remorse for his pained son before him. Torn gasps grating past his throat, blood streaming from his wound, pooling underneath, and the barrened eyes boring into his for desired comfort and reassurance. Craving to be convinced all will be alright. Yet another comforting lie Kozmo was forced to uphold.

Unknowingly but willingly Kozmo raced his way towards the gate, seeming to have forgotten about the thousands of skeleton spirits glaring down upon him, as if he was nothing but a mouse and they were the atrocious feline (cat) sulking within coverage waiting for the right moment to pounce upon it's dazed prey. Their crimison pupils, much alike the color of Jack's blood, pursued observing Kozmo approaching the entry with newfound water droplets streaming from his eyes, slithering down his grey toned cheeks. Their sneers only lengthened along their lips, as their unforgiving soul beamed with delight. They could already taste the fear of millions along with their delect of freedom.

The clanking of keys resounded throughout the expanse, along with the screeching bellows, and the low-toned mumbles that drowned out the shrill wheezes and pants. The Fearling's were completely unaware of Jack sprawled across the cement ground, scraping his fingernails against the stone, as he heaved himself further away from the crowd of corrupted spirits, pin pointed on dragging his injured frame to the corner of the cell. Never did Jack think such a simple task could be so challenging, so tiresome. Such a basic movement that could bring him so much pain. Every time his opened wound grinded against the jagged gravel, he didn't hesitate in letting an anguished whimper slip past his lips. Deaf to the Fearlings, but not to Kozmotis who was helplessly watching as he scrambled his way over. Jack only wished he would be beside him in time. Jack didn't want to die this way. He didn't want to die alone.

Kozmo's slim fingers stumbled upon seeking the correct key to unlock the blasted door, that separated him from his precious child that was gradually slipping away from existence itself. His eyes scrounged through the various, differed keys, skimming past each ineffectual one that brought no purpose to this situation. Completely un-feeling to the double amount of eyes locked upon him, he frantically scrounged through the ring of keys, his breathes coming out in limited gasps. The nervousness brought along with that of a fraction of a million Fearling's only granted Kozmo's trembling to increase. Only shorten his height, and erase the few un-notable wrinkles inked along his cheeks and Kozmo could easily be mistaken for the quivering child they all foresaw him as. A patsy child that was always making mistakes. The Fearlings could have been hallucinating when for a slight second they mistaken Kozmo as a twelve year old boy with wide, callow eyes that just experienced the brutality and savagery of the universe. But only shook their heads to be greeted back to the reality of seeing Kozmo with squinted eyelids, flooded with dull and far to experienced pupils. Their expressions didn't contort into an ounce of regret, instead seemed to brighten as Kozmo fitted the key into the lock. The air seemed to freeze along with the Fearlings as they all silently prayed and awaited for the creek of the door to open, and their reign of fear to proceed. The clink of the lock only proven the key was a perfect match.

Effortlessly swinging the cage door open, then did Kozmo regain his senses of the mistake he just made. He didn't have enough time to react against the swarm of black shadows bombarding straight into him. Helpless screams were gagged, as darkness harshly tossed and flipped him around in the sea of blackness with hundred foot waves crashing down upon him. He wasn't sure if his eyes were open at the moment, for it was truly pitch black and there wasn't on once of light through a single crevice in the enclosure. Hisses screeched past his teeth as the sand seemed to constrict tighter around him, compressing his lungs, forcing the air out him, enabling none to be gulped back in. His arms flailed beside him only to skim past the cloudy darkness, incapable of grasping ahold of anything. He felt truly helpless. He felt worthless. He hasn't forgotten about Jack, awaiting for him to skid along side him, consoling him, fathering him, and spitting out fake guarantees to sooth his final moments. Kozmo bit his lip to hold back the sobs upon the boundary of being released. The cackling laughter and taunts besieging him, were deaf to his ears as he squirmed against the black substance carelessly catapulting him in different directions. Little was he aware when he thumped along the brick floor and all the tousled shadows dispersed down the halls, abandoning the father to sulk over his son.

Through the vague haze, Kozmo deciphered the tail of a black mass sharply vanishing from his sight. The pain was still present within his body, and he cursed to himself when he progressively hauled himself onto his feet, frantically observing the vacant room. Until did his scrambled memories reorder themselves he went to full on panic mode when his eyes settled on the un moving frame laid within the center of the floor. Kozmo subsided the agony and stumbled over to Jack as fast as he possibly could, yelling his name multiple times, ensured with no response or retort back. Not even a movement or a moan.

Kozmo collapsed beside Jack's frail body, hesitantly reaching his wobbling arms towards him, just discovering the shreds and tears tattered into his fabric clothing, and cuts and bruises imbedded underneath. Did he care? Of course not.

He wrapped his bloodied fingers around Jack's back and waist, effortlessly flipping Jack onto his back side, praying to find opened vibrant eyes staring into his or rough coughs emitting through the lair. Anything to guarantee Jack was still breathing, still alive. Instead of what was expected, Kozmo's heart shattered into a million un-repairable pieces, that were just fixed, as he let a clamored sob stream out of him. Jack's eyes were sealed shut as blood was soaked all throughout his hoodie and caked onto his hands. But most importantly, how cold and stiff he felt. Not the icy shiver Jack always brought with his contact but the coldness any one would dread to feel from their loved one. The cold, bitter feeling of death. Kozmo couldn't accept this. His son, dead. Gone. Whisked away from reality. Nothing left but this lifeless body Kozmo cradled in his arms. Yells, pleads, prays, even offering to replace himself rung throughout the desolated halls and foyers. Followed by the heartbroken sob of a fragmented father. Kozmo failed. Failed to protect the only thing he cared for. The haunting musings fizzled through Kozmo as he nestled Jack's limp form close against his. The way he didn't feel the rise and fall of Jack's chest, the miserable wheezes, or the pained moans. Kozmo desired anything, anything at all to bring Jack back to him. How betrayal must feel...

Throughout the night, the relentless hours, Kozmo remained embracing Jack against him, uncontrollably wailing, weeping, assuring comforts/lies to himself that all would be resolved. Hollering towards Jack to wake up, pretending that Jack was in a restful slumber, threatening to punish him in some jokeable manner if he didn't open his eyes. Only a couple minutes later did those commands turn into grief-stricken begs..

"Jack, I'm begging you. Come back to me."

"I can't. I can't do this without you, Jack. You can't be gone. Please don't be."

"Jack? Please I know your still there. Just wake up."

Kozmo couldn't come to the concept that Jack was truly gone. He didn't dare check for a pulse or a faint heartbeat, too frightened at what he might find. But as it is said time can heal all wounds. Or in this case, time only made it worst. Time has only proven the lonesome hours Kozmo has been stuck in, with nothing but a hallow form in his embrace. Only confirming his son was long, Long gone from him. For Kozmo, time only deepened the wounds and infected them.

Countless more hours passed, and it wouldn't be surprising if it's been a whole day that ticked past. Kozmo rocked back and forth along the blistering stone floor, mumbling non-sense to himself, as his eyes were circled open, staring to the emptied distance. His clothes were scattered with wrinkles and tares, and his huygen was intolerable. His and Jack's blood was smothered all across his body, some droplets dried along his cheeks. The room reeked with repugnant odor, that was appealing swarms of flies to evade around. The smell of iron (or was it copper?) fumed throughout the room, clearing the sinuses of any new comers with a ghastly odor. None of this mattered to Kozmo though.

He huddled Jack's tense form against him, still handling the shock and understandment it came with the death of his most treasured prize. It would seem like he would never accept this deterring fact. So it seemed he would remain seated here for all eternity, smothering his child in his embrace. The sour coldness still seethed from Jack, and sponged itself into Kozmo, as it only weakened his emotional state of mind even more. Kozmo was always so use to the pleasant coldness that would trickle up his spine, that Jack would present him with, but this coldness it was so dense and disturbing. Then did it strike him. Jack died a lonesome death. Kozmo replayed the moment Jack's eyes were fixed into his, begging for him to comfort him, reassure him, or just simply stay beside him. The craving for a simple gesture that brought him the luxury of knowing he had one last person that cared for him. The bliss he never got. Jack's final moments alone, suffering emotionally and physically. Awaiting for his father to assuage him, that never happened.  
And just like that, the brink of dignity Kozmo had left, shattered as he broke down into yet another emotionally tarring sob. He laced his fingers through Jack's silver locks, un-knotting the clumps of blood dried into some places. He grazed his hand through Jack's hair, earning no moan or simple murmur in return. Jack's head motionlessly lolled in Kozmo's grasp, his skin flushed, a deathly pale colour with scrapes and bruises remaining imprinted along his skin for all eternity. His eyelids remaining shut for immortality. Kozmo could only deal with the fact this was all his fault. The blame on him Jack died a hallow, agonizing, lonely death. Kozmo could never accept such a certainty...'

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Pitch's eyelids shot open, pursued with strident gasps of air that echoed throughout the faint lit room. His palms were tightly grasped against the handle of his seat, visibly changing his knuckles into a flushed white tone. His mind was busied ordering itself, while he hectically glowered around the room, assuring himself he was indeed free from that fretful nightmare.

A sigh of pure relief freed itself from Pitch as he was granted with Jack asleep before him, with a steady rhythm of breathing and hushed pants slipping past his pallid lips. Pitch's spirit seemed to lighten tremendously, discovering Jack wasn't after all dead, limp in his embrace. Regaining the pained memory of Jack's rigid and prone form in his arms, sent a frigid shiver trickling down his spine. The whole ordeal of the nightmare was absolutely petrifying to just think about. Pitch couldn't bear to think of himself doing such a barbarous stunt, allowing Jack, a child, to die under his doing.

Assuring himself it was just a nightmare resolved his emotionally un-stabled conflict with himself, along with regulating the range of abrupt emotions flaring throughout him. After reordering himself into place, Pitch blankly gazed to Jack's serene form. Watching Jack alive, steadily breathing soothed Pitch's stress for the time, emptying his mind of the critical matters at hand. Steadily he glided his hand towards Jack's, that were progressively un-clenched at the time but slightly trembling, and winded his fingers around Jack's numbing palm, gently squeezing to assure someone was there for him. If Jack awoke to see this, Pitch would never think of feeling so ashamed of himself; Jack would never let him forget this. But since Jack wasn't aware of his surroundings at the moment, Pitch could at least console him in some manner. Soothingly, Pitch circled his thumb on the back of Jack's palm, assuaging him in a small, petty effort. Pitch's eyes brightened seeing Jack's abrupt gasps turn into fluent breathes, along with his frantic tossing and turning ceasing to an end. Whoever thought such a minor action could be so effective to Jack. Pitch felt like a weight has been lifted off his chest and he was able to breathe once again. It felt pleasant that he done something right for once. He had to make it up to Jack for his past mis-doings, after all...

Pitch wasn't affective of the time any longer, only knowledgeable that a few hours ticked by. The silence of the room and the assurance the Jack was in better condition, gave Pitch time to think. Just comprehend what was happening. Only did he realize what he has put himself into. It was similar to barging into war, with no battle plan or even any weapons for defense. Or playing a poker game with no cards to place down. Now did he apprehend that he was on the verge of loosing. To any one else, it seemed he was a mere scent away from victory, but in reality if the Guardians or Jack discovered of what a poor position he was in, they would take that to their benefit and rid him for good. Loosing his chances of Jack siding with him. Loosing his chance to rid the Guardians. Loosing his chance of power. It would be nothing more than a hallucination to him when this was all over. He had to have some strategy in mind, to make sure Jack would stay willingly with him. He had to keep Jack as 'bait' to lure the Guardians into his trap, but without Jack being aware. No matter how much it shattered him to come to this, he had to lie about a few things to Jack. He just hoped Jack wouldn't find out, for it might break more than just trust in this..

.

Unaware to any of the occupants within the space, hidden within the shadows a rogue Nightmare insolently stood, it's posture high and content, it's golden orbs observing it's recent victim, that it got more than a delectable meal from, but more like a feast fit for a king. The fraud Nightmare, free from it's master control, boastfully remained in the shadows, cackling mentally to itself as it covertly observed Pitch and his newfound weakness. Out of all the other spirits, Pitch had a soft spot for none other than Jack Frost. The Nightmare almost bursted out guffawing, but it took an abundance amount of will power to hold in it's amusement to seeing it's once ruler, have a fatal flaw, that Nightmare would definitely use against him in the future.

As time trickled by and no sudden actions commenced, nothing vital, the Nightmare decided it was time to take it's leave. Pitch was very amusing to watch, fussing over the winter child, but now it was just pathetic. The Nightmare remembered it's cruel time, controlled under the Nightmare King. Obedient to his every command, devoted to him till the end. But now, it realized how foolish it was. Pitch didn't give a crap for them, they were just pointless weight to be used for his tiring efforts. And after those exhausting years, now did it realize that. The Nightmare grunted to itself for being so trusting to the Nightmare King. He didn't care for it. He never did. And now, it finally found a weak point to strike Pitch with. The nightmare it caused to Pitch, certainly only proven it's assumption even more. Jack was a weakness to Pitch. And Pitch never had any weaknesses, not until now. A wicked malice formed along it's lips, as it began to disintegrate within the shadows. It swore to be back for Pitch. It would be back for more fear to be soaked into it. But right now, it had to regroup. Regroup with the other Nightmares. The other Nightmares that came to their senses and saw how harsh they were being treated. The Nightmare couldn't wait to tell the others about Pitch's new instability. It was eager to begin it's revenge against Pitch for all those years of suffering he inflicted upon them.

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**A/N: Hello:) Sorry for the late update:p This weekend I was really bored and instead of working on this, I decided to go on Netflix and watch a tv show. Little did I know, I am now obsessed with it:D I was literally up all day and night Saturday, getting through season 1 of 'Revolution':) Oh my god, I was bawling my eyes out when Dan died:'''( But now, I have to catch up with season 2:p So now it looks like I'm doing more all nighters:) Anyway, if there's any 'Revolution' fans out there, I would love to fangirl with you:D **

**Anyway, hoped you enjoyed the chappie:) If it's confusing just tell me:) Cause now I'm paranoid that these chapter are going to be confusing for you guys, considering what happened last chapter:p So if it is, just tell me and I'll make sure to fix it by the next day:)**

**-Silversparkleout**


	5. Chapter 5: Connections to the Past

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not have the honor of owning Rise of the Guardians:p Eh, oh well.**

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It was dull. Stale even. Hours of completely nothing to occupy his time brought Pitch with relentless hours of being seated in the stool beside Jack. He continually shifted in his seat, seeming to never be in a comfortable position, along with scraping the grit from underneath his nails simply to pass the time by.  
He had the plan set in mind, for what to tell Jack when he awoke. But that was long ago, and now he patiently awaited, humming tunes to himself, admiring the shadows dancing across the cement walls, and any other ideas that popped into his mind.

Jack remained in a soundless slumber, rested along the comforter, revealing no signs of waking up any time soon. It only discouraged Pitch even further. He was debating whether he should startle him awake from a nightmare or await for Jack return back to the present himself. Pitch presumed himself to not be so cruel and awaited respectfully. Only now did Pitch question his decision making skills quite crummy. Over the past hours he could sense his patience levels gradually dropping...

Pitch slumped back in his chair followed by a labored sigh to display his fatigue. He craved to recover a portion of his strength in some manner but taking another nap was certainly out of the question. There was no resentment whether he wanted to return back to the nightmare realm or not. The previous nightmare was still a lingering presence, alike a demon awaiting the right moment to strike...

_"Jackson!"_

The voice screeched throughout his mind, along with the visionary sensation of needles being pricked against his skin leaving behind a scorching pain. The scenery transformed before Pitch, to Jack placed within his arms with dull, lifeless eyes boring into his. Blood was everywhere. Pitch gagged against the vile smell that circled around him. It was absolutely retched. But the most disgusting part out of it all, was seeing Jack, _limp in his embrace_. Jack's blood calcified onto his skin. Having the certainty of failing, betraying Jack. Pitch could feel the blood saturated in his robe, gathering along his arms and hands, the liquid slithering between his fingers. Guilt and remorse roping themselves around Pitch's soul, compressing tighter until nothing was left except the regret and blame brought upon himself.

Pitch clenched his eyes shut, along with clasping his hands against the handles of the seat. He desperately resisted against replaying the unwanted memory; frustration building up inside as he was perilously failing. He could feel the blood, the sodden fabric of Jack's hoodie slick against his hands. He could decipher the stale, motionless air permeated with the scent of iron with every sniff. But the most heart wrenching of it all was Pitch re-experiencing the bitter emotions imprinting themselves onto his heart.

He rattled his head, ridding the nightmare consistently haunting him. He could faintly hear the ghostly voice calling towards him, reminding him of the grueling illusion that was stealthily crawling it's way back to his memory. Jack's pained screams followed by the faint thump of his body collapsing against the cement floor, with dreadful gasps cackling throughout the expanse.  
Pitch slightly cringed against the appalling spectacle that was his _individual _nightmare. His terrifying way of displaying what his excruciating fears were. Exploiting them throughout his imagination, turning pleasant thoughts to hideous nightmares. But that was the question throughout this whole ordeal, wasn't it? Fears? The Boogeyman had fears? That absolutely made no sense. Pitch wasn't the spirit to be recognized that had his _own_ fears. He was the Nightmare King. He was the mythical shade that children would tremble at the very thought of. He was the spirit that created the meaning of fear, and the one who dispersed it throughout the night. He uncurled the suspicion and terror from beneath little ones at night and exposed it to their minds for them to experience the harm and danger in the world. Pitch would actually savor those glorious moments. Lounge beside the bed that contained a squirming infant, unconsciously babbling useless begs to him or herself, each one experiencing, first-handed, what their _unique_ fears were. Pitch would enjoy others having the nightmares he created from scratch...

They were worthless humans after all. Pathetic children that would have the covers thrown over themselves, or heads buried underneath their pillows to prevent the nightmare from reaching their minds. Pitch savored those moments.. Wide eyes frightfully staring towards the closet, that's door was slightly creaked open bringing the suspicion of what lingered within. The darkness in the closest, the darkness embedded in the corners, or the darkness reflected under bed frames was where he awaited. Awaited for the delectable fear to be fed to him.

Now it was reversed. As if there was an imposter of him, secluded within _his shadows_, _his darkness_, adoring the satisfaction it came of watching _him_ squirm against nothing, nothing but an imaginary figurine...

Pitch thought long. Pieces to a puzzle were beginning to be found, but seemed not to connect with one another. The incorrect-shaped segments having the correct picture etched along it's surface, but the incorrect outline for it to attach with the rest. The nightmare was just as similar..

Each of the pieces of the nightmare, having the matchable presentation engraved along its cut-fraction, but the incorrect outline for it to link together. To link the nightmare to reality...

Jack. Jack was the main component in the nightmare. He was the metaphorical puzzle piece that mis-shapened the whole thing. And that was the fog in Pitch's mind, that couldn't conjoin him and Jack between nightmare and reality. Pitch never had such a strong connection to Jack, unlike in the nightmare. Jack was not an essential part to him, not to his life. Was he?  
It started with Jack being the inessential pawn to this _game._ A pawn that was steadily gaining superiority. Pitch had no bond with Jack, just had a great amount hostility targeted towards him. Almost less than a week ago, he was almost willing to kill him. Pitch foresaw Jack being the wall between his victory then. Pitch remembered envisioning Jack as the inessential pawn, but then did he see the importance Jack was to the Guardians, the power he wielded within, being held back by emotional matters. Until then, did Jack transform into the king in this _game_. Pitch's anger fumed throughout him seeing Jack change his plan so rapidly. Yet did that spot, buried deep beneath remain open to the forgiveness Pitch granted towards Jack. Little was Pitch aware that the nightmare was correct on one thing.. Pitch did have a bond with Jack. A connected bond with Jack and a long, lost memory. A connection between Pitch and Jack, purposely to resurface something or someone hidden within Pitch back towards the light.  
A connection hidden within the shadows...

The strangest deja vu ran through Pitch's veins, bringing an acute awareness straightly followed next. It felt as though an unspeakable presence was instructing him to drop the matter he was currently thinking of. It felt as though he was so close to an unwanted clue, that desired not to be discovered. Pitch didn't see the danger in continuing his mental investigation of this peculiar nightmare, and proceeded.

Pitch fast forwarded through the nightmare once again, picking up the confusion within. Then did he learn an unfitted puzzle piece, was himself. In the nightmare, he certainly knew it was himself being portrayed. But somehow as a different person or spirit. The face complexions, the slim outline, and the same golden eyes. It was all the same, but the differed personality and actions that weren't Pitch's. Along with the choice of dress attire and the sword strapped around his waist, concealed underneath the lengthy robe. Then did the apparel hook Pitch's attention? The robe itself was ravishing. It consisted of golden embroidery along the bottom edges and fringes encircled around his wrists, sewn perfectly into the fabric, flowing flawlessly along the cloth.  
Along with the clean, alluring ornate, the robe itself was a piece of excellence. It was so precise. The whole material was smooth, not a single blemish, not until the Fearlings shredded the magnificent fabric. It seemed to be raven's feathers overlapped then ironed together. Pitch admired such a magnificent piece of work, unlike his robe, that consisted of black sand and shadows interlaced together. But for some detached reason, it felt as though he once was able to feel that silk robe placed along him, blandly rested against him; the silk fabric caressing past his chapped skin. Pitch could envision the richness he felt. A pure rest of mind, as well as tranquil breathes, and as though it was all just a pleasant dream. The robe was a piece of flourish, and felt as though it all belonged to him once.

_Ridiculous! Impossible!_ Pitch's mind hollered to his visionary self. Pitch re-focused himself and continued to inspect the differences. As he scanned down his fraud self, the robe seemed to be unfocused to him when his eyes landed on the sword concealed underneath. To the naked eye, it would just have been fooled as a regular, dingy sword. There were a few notable defects to it, along with the faint rust outlining it's perimeter. But Pitch was amazed. Stunned. The sword was even more of a magnificence than the robe. The few blemishes along it represented the victories it has honored; the faint rust symbolizing the eons of battles it has engaged past, age beginning to take it's toll on the object. It wasn't the gleaming sword knights or kings would posses, it didn't have that glisten to it at all. The texture seeming to be gray sandpaper already overused. It was a tacky, outdated weapon, however Pitch still adored it's architecture. How would it have been if it had- Then did it strike him..

Pitch skidded his seat out from underneath, aloof to it toppling over. Unnoticed to Jack's stirring, Pitch made his exit from the room, keeping the mental note to return soon as possible. Right now, there was something supernatural, familiar in the nightmare that occurred and Pitch's main priority altered to contemplating what this all came to mean. All the same, after days of being beside Jack it would be practically unfair if Jack were to awake the one time he left his beside. Unfortunately, as coincidence has it, as Pitch snaked his way out of the room little did his ears catch the faint grouse from the winter spirit whose eyelids flickered open, just in time to catch the slam of the iron door closing leaving behind Jack, lonesome, locked in the Nightmare King's lair...

Pitch stormed past nightmares carelessly roaming the corridors, going down the multiple routes of twists. He traveled through the main foyer section, that still occupied the thousands of flightless fairies, hurrying on the overpass that lead to his private quarters. Pitch thrust the splintered door open, greeted with a fridged breeze grazing his frame. The room was actually presentable, unless expected to consist of goblin statues or have that eerie presence to it; it was similar to a mortal's dwelling. Except for the few differences of being an immortal spirit.  
It wasn't big yet it wasn't small, it was an appropriate sized room. To his left, a fire place gouged into the cement wall with a blazing fire having no chimney to exit. The sofa placed ahead of the fire had a green tint to it, along with a few ripped dents, viewing it was worn out from millenniums of use. There were worn books stacked upon the couch, some marked in certain areas, some forgotten along the floor. But from vacant spots along the bookshelf it seemed as though Pitch had an interest in reading for a past-time...

Pitch circled around his desk, veiled with crumpled parchments and outlaid maps. He bent over, tugging out from what was underneath. A chest. He flung the lid open revealed with silks of all sorts. Dark shaded silk blankets folded underneath two objects laid atop of them. Pitch eyes widened, stifling a dismayed gasp.

Inside, settled on top of the bundle of silk attires, was a locket. An intertwined chain leading to an oval pendant, inside a photograph of a long, lost child. A girl. Pitch ignored it though, eyes settled on the sword placed beside it. A tacky, outdated sword with a few notable defects, along with a faint rust outlining it's perimeter. The sword from his nightmare, that was in his possession all along...

* * *

The fairy waded forth for multiple, strenuous days and nights, fumbling upon the winds towards guiding her to her longing destination, refusal to pause nor stop for a moment, not even a second to nourish her parched throat with tranquilizing water. She couldn't afford a delay, just because of her impotent needs. She wasn't absolutely dieing from the brink of dehydration, she wasn't positively going to faint in mid-stride just because of her exhaustion. No. She strived forth, determined to reach the Caucasus Mountains before nightfall of the fourth night. Tonight was the third. It was dire she reached it before tomorrow's sundown. If not... She couldn't even speculate the possibilities that would happen if she were to fail..

The nipping breezes ruffled it's way through her gritty feathers, leaving behind a faint outer coating of frost, glistening underneath the incandescent moonlight. It looked alluring, captivating, along the fairy's virile feathers. Not a second later was the beauty swiped away, by a vigorous shake, ridding the permafrost to plummet down, pulled by gravity towards the ground, miles below where the fairy was located in the outer atmosphere. She didn't dare take the smallest glance below her, head fixed straight ahead. Either she was too devoted to reaching her destination or just the fright it came with seeing the dense clouds below, a vague haze of mountain peeks followed next, pursued by the drop beyond that. It brought a mix of fear throughout her. It brought an acute alarm to her senses, along with common fear every child and spirits dread. The hybrid fairy never knew she could feel a combination of fears at once. It was like acid through her veins, the coldness engulfing her in it's embrace, the jack rabbit's rhythmic thump of her heartbeat, and the solacing assurance to tread onward, mentally demanding her to finish the task.  
It gave her assertion.

The gusts of snow blanketed her vision nearly every second. A sheet of white replaced with yet another. It was a constant, repeated process. It was unmistakably troublesome... And that was putting it lightly. The winds pushed her forward - along with the fear- pressing her to keep moving to her terminal. She felt the affectionate swipe the wind would cosset her with, the forceful yet gentle nudge that would coerce her forward. It was a symbolic force of determination.

Jagged cracks were lined throughout her lucid wings, gradually diffusing more widely throughout. It certainly looked painful, Little Tooth was sure of it. Maybe the coldness was just numbing the pain away. If that was the case, then she was grateful.

Enduring hours grinded by, continuous snowflakes dampening her vision, the constant fright clouding her common sense. She was now only led by the wind. Hopefully a reliable accomplice...

And it turned out her choice of judgment was more than trustworthy. The wind vibrantly swooped her downwards, towards the snow-dusted mountain, with a cave carved into it's side. A tarnished, flicker of light wavering in it faintly. It was a sure enough sign that there was activity in the cave or at least three weakened spirits thoughtlessly awaiting her arrival...

Her plum coloured eyes widened with delight, along with a squeak of joy echoing throughout the mountain range, the wind carrying the high-pitched note throughout the barrened miles of rugged rock and pointed ice. She gladly accepted the wind to lug her into the cave...

The wind left her aid directly at the entrance, expecting her wings to bring her little's way. But the tooth-fairy didn't anticipate the force to leave her so briskly nor have the strength to support her own weight any longer. Once the leeway abandoned her she tumbled against the stone ground, entering with diverting form.

Even when she planted to a halt, her brain continually reeled around in her skull along with the rock walls too. The whole world was revolving in a circle at a remarkably fast pace, the stone-clay side marked with whimsical engraving to her left, no to her right. No up on the ceiling. No on the-

Then did everything order itself back in place when three - all too familiar- figures were racing there way towards her. She barely had enough time to raise herself off the ragged ground before she was scooped against her endearing mother's chest. She was tightly cuddled yet savored the moment evermore. She warmly accepted the comforting gesture of her mother's warm hands wrapped around her puny frame, snuggling her against her, cos-playing mother and daughter reunited after a years parting. She felt chipped wings scrape past her already damaged frame but she didn't mind. All that mattered was she was safe in her mother's hold .

She glanced to see the Tooth Fairy's tear stained eyes glancing down at her, furtively scanning her for notable injuries. She couldn't help but smile at her mother's concern. It made her feel hope and joy again. It made her feel as though all wasn't lost just yet...

Unknowingly, she cheeped a yawn. Her vibrant eyes were no longer full of exuberance and happiness, instead replaced with despair and exhaustion. She greatly lusted for a nap, even a moment of silence would be appreciated, but she needed to explain the danger Pitch now posed as and the danger about to engage tomorrow evening.

She positioned herself in a more comfortable position, clearing her throat in doing so. As she prepared to begin her explanation, she paused. Startled, even appalled at the sight before her...

The remaining Guardians were seated around her and Toothiana, each one looking worn and defeated. Her expression drooped along with her head, slouched against her chest. She could feel tears springing from underneath. She took a forced gulp, clenching her eyes shut, pushing the tear drops back to their 'rain cloud'. She fluttered her eyelids back open, prepared for the sight before her...

North didn't seem jolly any longer nor did he even have that glint to his eyes. His fur coat wrapped around him was shredded on every possible inch and the fur lace was matted and torn. The little tooth fairy even noticed the disheartening presence North diffused throughout the enclosed expanse. She could even make out the faint bags imprinted underneath his eyes. He must be as exhausted as she was, maybe even more. But she was extremely grateful for the faint smile he granted towards her. It caused hope to spark once again, that maybe the Jolly Ol' Saint Nicholas was still in there, somewhere.

Bunny wasn't much different, possibly even worse. He didn't look like the Guardian of Hope at all. His fur was matted all around him, cemented into locks by dried blood. The stitched cuts were visible under the layers of pelt with dried crimison glistening through. It brought an angering aurora from him. The little fairy even cringed further against her mothers chest, frightened Bunny might turn rabid against them. His emerald eyes were trailing past her scanning the walls of the cave, seeming emptied of all hope and endurance. When she speculated closer his eyes gleamed with fresh moistened trails along with remorse, stress and... Guilt?

Her mother figure looked especially weak, brittle even. Her feathers weren't fluorescent or glossy any more. They were pruned, trimmed in all different angles. She looked _beastly_. She wasn't the flourishing Tooth Fairy she was known as. Her luminous wings wouldn't even cooperate for her, instead overlapped along her back, unwilling to flutter to her command. She glanced up at her, in hope to be encouraged all will be mended soon. That everything will be all right in the end. The sliver of satisfaction she was obliged with was the blank stare gazing to her, assuring nothing.

She tore her gaze away to find they were all positioned beside a dwindling fire. More like a single, decaying flame. But it was of some use. She could feel the distant heat slithering around her frame, chipping away the cold. She could strongly smell the charcoal and smoke emitted throughout the cave. Along with the fanciful smell of vengeance.

She didn't hesitate a moment longer, informing the Guardians all that has happened. Warning them of Pitch. Warning them of Jack being taken by Pitch. She recalled the moment their eyes widened with outrage and fear when she informed them of Jack, yet had to continue. There was so much to tell in a limited time frame.  
She informed Tooth of the other fairy's conditions, which wasn't well at all. They were being caged like animals after all! She could even see the moistened puddles forming at the base of her mother's eyelids. It made her want to burst out in tears herself...

Finally and most importantly she warned them of the event commencing tomorrow evening. Simultaneous, they all gasped in horror at the same time, each one wide with frightful eyes, mouths gaped open.

"Elsa," referring to her past- name, "Are you positive?," Tooth frightfully questioned.

She was positive. Tomorrow evening 'rogue-nightmares' were going to cover the night with fear and nightmares...

* * *

**A/N: Oh my gosh! I am so sorry for the late update! It truly am! School has been kicking my butt lately and the weekends I was just to exhausted to write:p I am so sorry for the crappy chapter also but I had to update because the guilt has been eating away at me... But some good news it that I have a four day weekend coming up so it is certain that I'll be able to update then:)**

** Also, for lemonChoclate... Yay, another revolution fan:D Also, no need to worry about spoiling anything to me bout it;) I'm finally all caught up with season one, and already watched the beginning episodes of season 2:) But thank you for amazing review:) It inspired me to update as soon as possible;) And just because of your amazing review, this chapter is dedicated to you! Sadly, I wasn't able to get to 40 reviews so I decided to go with yours because it made me extremely happy:)**

**Also, 5 reviews and next chappie will be up sooner than you'll expect;)**

**-Silversparkleout**


	6. IMPORTANT

**A/N****: SO SORRY! But I am not an organized person so there might be a few more of these author's notes or as I like to call them "fake chapters" throughout this story... **

**Anyway, when I was typing the last chapter it was really late at night and I was rushing through it, and I didn't have my outline beside me so I went by what I remembered and ended up messing the tooth-fairy's part. Whatever you call the fairy helpers for the Tooth Fairy...  
I total missed a vital point that was suppose to be there and yeah... So a week later I notice that:p Sorry, but it's fixed now:)**

**AND I HIGHLY RECOMMEND FOR YOU TO GO BACK AND READ THAT SECTION!**** Or else you're going to be extremely confused the few upcoming chapters...**

**So that's mostly it...**

**And I'll be updating the next chapter soon:) Have the rough draft for it done, just have to finalize it:) Should take about two days... Also, extremely sorry for not updating over the four day break I said I had:( I was busy, more than I expected, and just didn't have the time.. And I probably might have gotten a little distracted making a video;) Would appreciate if you checked it out:) It's a Rise of the Guardian/ mostly Jack Frost video;) It's called Rise of the Guardian- Heart of Courage. By marlyoreo (I know. Weird name.) **

**Side note but Important:  for readers who have been awaiting for me to update Cruel Revenge... I will soon:) Finally! I just had a horrible writers block for that chapter and either just couldn't write it or just got lazy and went to watch TV instead:p But I am terribly sorry! And as an apology... I re-read it to in the jinx's of the writing I'm doing for it and didn't really enjoy Chapter 3/ North and Bunny's Pov... So I'm in the middle of re writing that.. But don't worry nothings going to change/plot/form, just the description, technically. **

**I****mportant for Cruel Revenge also: There is going to be a TITLE CHANGE to it... It's complicated as to why and I don't feel like typing that much any more but I'll be changing the title for that after my next update (I'll write a note in that story also about this) but the new title is going to be From the Darkness We Rise;) It literally took me about an hour to think of a better title for that story:) But I think it fits it nicely and I hope you agree with me when it's finished:)**

**For now, make sure you re-read that section, please watch my video;), Cruel Revenge readers don't forget about the title change and update soon:), and don't forget to review:)**

**-Silversparkleout **


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